Punishment
by Zoni
Summary: Grell has been causing trouble once more. William will have to put him in his place. Will/Grell, gore, adult


_**Punishment  
**by Zoni_

The loud ticking of a clock filled the air in the large office that William T. Spears occupied. Leaning against his desk, he scanned over endless documents. The lengthy trail of papers was much the same as any other day. It was nothing more than a literary record of stress and work for his department and others that he aided.

Though each deceased human was different, each an individual that had died in their own unique way, they all looked the same to him. A century of work had worn away the recognition for the individual. While he had never empathized with the dead, William had once recognized them as people and not simply pieces of paper. Just then, the only thing that he saw about any of them was the manner in which they had been killed.

Seventy-two reports into the evening's work, he paused. Running his fingers over the current report, he studied the details. The parchment highlighted the portrait of a plain woman, her name listed as unknown. She was young, fresh and stupid-looking. A glance over the sheet gave him the details that he needed to know; she was a whore, she had been murdered, and she was worthless to the extent that even the Dispatch had barely taken the time to make note of her.

This report was the same as a dozen others that he had seen that very day. Yet, this was different. He could feel his vision going red as he scanned the details of the report. In the past month, three other killings with the same markers had come across his desk. No, calling them simple killings was incorrect. The women had been slaughtered. There had been more than a dozen nearly identical incidents in the past six months alone.

He tightened his hands on the papers. The markers were all there; strangulation, blood loss, severe beatings. The cause of death could not be determined even by the shinigami sent to investigate. The beating was only foreplay to whoever dismembered the women, an aperitif before the main course of violence that followed.

Even without double checking the facts, he knew what had happened. He knew what he needed to do. The fingers of his right hand tightened on his pen. With a loud crack, the writing utensil snapped in half, spilling ink across his gloves.

Stopping only to clean up the mess, William stood and made his way to the door, preparing to deal with his problem.

~/-\~

Every inch of the attic was painted red. From the rotting lace drapes to the wooden floorboards, the room was drenched in it. Sitting in the center of the floor and basking in the red glow, Grell Sutcliff cradled her head in his arms. Humming a wordless tune, he angled the scissors in his hand to trim away the last bits of flesh from the stump that had once been her neck.

He had been careful this time; he had not used the chainsaw to take her apart. Instead, he had done the work delicately, flawlessly. The joints had been a challenge, but she had eventually fallen to pieces in his hands. Now, he was free to put the final touches on his doll. She was already beautiful to him, painted up with her own blood. Setting the scissors aside, he pulled her up to look at him, smoothing her hair back delicately with his fingers.

"Don't worry, love, you'll be even more splendid soon," he whispered. He loved the way that his fingers dragged soft smears of red across her skin. He would wash them off soon, making her up like a proper woman, but for the time being he could enjoy the contrast against her chalky skin. "You're still not as pretty as the others in my collection, but have no fear... they'll welcome you anyway."

Turning the head in his hands, Grell gestured grandly to the wooden boxes that sat along one wall. They were each polished with special care. Though the lids were shut, he knew what lay inside. Pillowed on Chinese silk, another of his beautiful dolls occupied each box. Even though he did not know their names, he treasured each of them. No one would ever know who they were and he did not care. He had made an example of them and taught them a lesson. They were far more beautiful in death than they had ever been in life. That was all that he cared about.

The eyes of the disembodied head stared ahead, staring lifelessly at its companions. Grell stroked her face gently, as one might pet an animal or a small child. "I took them apart, you see. One by one, bit by bit. I left them all around town, too. A piece here, a piece there. That way, everyone could see just how filthy they are. Disgusting whores, nobody even missed them. I put them right.

"Now everyone knows, see?"

Pulling the head against his chest, he showed it the newspaper clippings that were tacked to the walls. On many of them, the text had been blurred from blood that had soaked the print. The articles were all miniscule, small mentions compared to his other masterpieces.

The women that he and his red mistress killed often took center stage. Jack the Ripper was of far greater interest to the media than the often limbless bodies discovered all around London. That name was also far catchier than the nom de guerre that his personal pursuits had managed. No one had taken interest in the Thames torso murders, not even when he had tossed that limb into Mary Shelley's own yard.

"Such a shame they haven't paid more attention, don't you think?" He sighed. "My other games are intriguing, but you... you are special. They cannot even print your picture, you know, for I have kept your face all to myself. I wonder if they-"

The words were cut off as the cold steel of a death scythe came up under his chin. The bite of the metal pulled him off the floor and to his feet. He teetered uneasily on heels as the heat from the new arrival warmed the air.

Realizing who had found him, he let the head fall from his hands. It fell to the floor with a thud and rolled to the side, unnoticed.

"Disgusting," a voice growled. Deep, clear-cut and aggressive, it was a sound that Grell knew well.

Swallowing hard, the redhead whimpered. "William."

Very slowly, Grell turned around. Standing less than an inch away, the startling green-and-yellow of shinigami eyes stared at him coldly through black frames. He could feel the supervisor looking him up and down, his frown darkening with each new droplet of blood that he observed.

Without warning, William took a step forward. Surprised, Grell let himself be pushed backwards, further and further until his back hit a neglected desk that stood against the wall of the attic. The sound of William's hot breath and a light crackle of electricity were all the warning that Grell had before the dusty attic faded, replaced by the cold interior of an office at the Shinigami Dispatch Association. The neglected wood of the abandoned desk had been replaced by the solid oak of the office standard.

"Once more," William began, setting his scythe to the side, "I have found you in a situation like _this_. Disrupting the actions and duties of the Collections department, causing overtime, breaking rules and you still call yourself a shinigami."

"Will, I-"

"You are also getting blood on my floor. Your coat is dripping of it."

Knowing an apology would do little good, Grell tried to stand in the little space that remained between them. Moving awkwardly, he tried to take the coat off. As soon as he had stepped away from the desk, the coat to his elbows, he shouted loudly.

William reached out and unceremoniously grabbed the coat, turning Grell to face away from him. The redhead was shoved down over the desk, held captive by the garment tangled around his arms.

William hovered behind him, pressed so close that they were nearly sharing breaths. His voice was harsh as he berated him. "You are a waste of my time and resources. Do you really enjoy driving this department into the ground? You are not worth the time I spend on you.

"Were I a less lenient manager, I would have done away with you ages ago. Perhaps I should still do so."

Grell twisted in his grasp, looking at him directly. "Oh, you shouldn't say things like that when you know you don't mean them."

"You are in no position to order me around."

"Oh, aren't I?" Writhing, he ran his tongue across his lips, drawing the other's gaze. "I don't cause trouble. I keep things interesting. Without me, you'd have nothing to do but sit and look over the same boring reports day after day. I add color. You need it. You _want_ it."

In a half second, William found the situation reversed. He was thrown bodily against the desk as Grell pulled free of the coat, tossing it on the floor. Leaning over the

manager, the redhead flashed a mouthful of sharp teeth in a terrifying grin.

As William watched, the other shinigami lifted his hand to examine the smears of blood that still decorated his fingers. It was left over from the head he had been holding earlier, now forgotten somewhere in the city, and from his own filthy coat. Two red-tipped fingers reached out, drawing lines down the front of William's crisp suit shirt.

"Ah, what a shame!" Grell sighed dramatically. "Your clothes are dirty. Such a pretty color, but we should really do something about that."  
The edge of one polished fingernail traced a seam. Then, Grell grabbed the shirt and ripped it open, sending buttons flying. Both the shirt and the waistcoat tore in two, filling the air with the sounds of fabric ripping.

Immediately, William grabbed the bow tie around Grell's neck and pulled him down hard. Their lips collided as the redhead fell forward, pinning William to the desk. The caress was barely as kiss as each of them fought to take control, lips and tongues warring for dominance.

Breaking away, William pushed Grell back with all his might. The subordinate fell backwards, sprawling inelegantly on the floor. As the other man fell, William pulled himself to his feet. Straightening his clothing despite the damage, he reached up and repositioned his glasses.

Composing himself, William crossed the space between them in three easy steps. Standing between his underling's splayed legs, he lifted his foot and pressed it against the other man's growing arousal. Grell groaned, the sound not one of pain.

He enjoyed this sort of thing. He always had.

"Are you quite done?" William asked.

Grell looked up pitifully from the floor. He failed to hide a smile. "So soon? Never."

"Get to your feet!"

Crawling from his place on the ground, Grell did as he was ordered. The moment he was on his feet, William stepped forward once more, pressing him against the wall. The tie around Grell's neck was gone in an instant. William only paused long enough to remove his gloves. Then, he made quick work of unbuttoning the short and waistcoat that Grell wore, taking only slightly better care of the garments than Grell had of his.

Grell leaned forward, stealing a kiss. His feminine fingers danced across William's chest, pushing the mangled remains of the shirt aside to explore the skin underneath. He was interrupted as William's hands fastened around his wrists. Breaking the kiss, the manager shoved their hands lower. "If you insist on being so much trouble, you should at least offer compensation."

With that, William lifted one hand to Grell's shoulders and pushed him to the floor. His high heeled shoes hit the wood with a clattering sound. The noise of annoyance he made at being treated so poorly turned into a lustful groan as he reached up, unfastening William's trousers.

Pushing the pants open with slender fingers, he slid his hand inside. Wrapping his fingers around the other shinigami's length, he began to stroke. The heat of the fingers was enough to pull a quiet, halted groan from William's lips.

"Anything to please the boss," Grell purred, pulling him free of the restraints of the clothing. "My, I've missed you."

William's breath caught in his throat as he looked down, taking in the erotic sight of Grell's red nails pressed against his own heated skin. No sooner had he registered the view then it was obscured by the sight and feel of Grell's lips wrapped around his arousal.

The redhead's mouth was hot, wet and incredible. The slow bob of the red hair intensified all of it, making William see stars. The other man explored every inch of the offering in his mouth, feeding his own addiction to skin. This was something they both needed, desire tempered with false aggressions. This was heaven, all the more because William was asking for it.

Without thinking about it, William ran his fingers through Grell's hair. The soft strands of red hair were a sharp contrast to the roughness of their previous actions. Under his touch, Grell paused. He pulled back to look up at William. Realizing how affection the action might have seemed, William tightened his grip enough to make it sting.

Gasping against his member, Grell's teeth grazed him enough to sting but not enough to cut. Hissing, William yanked on Grell's hair and then thrust into his mouth, causing him to gag.

Grell pulled back sharply, clearing his throat as he glared up at William. The anger lasted only a moment before he retaliated, taking William's entire length down his throat in a single stroke. His tongue slid along the length, hitting every nerve that William's body had to offer.

Any pretense of aggression was dropped as Grell bobbed his head, increasing the pressure that he used to drive William further into bliss. The manager's breaths barely sped up, never panting, but the heat was undeniable.

Unable to take any more, William reached out with both hands and fisted his hands in Grell's hair. Ignoring the shout this garnered, he held the redhead in place as he emptied himself into his throat with a groan.

A full minute passed before he pulled away, leaning against a wall. Slowly, Grell got to his feet, sliding up William's body and pressing him into the solid surface behind the two of them. Reaching out, William grabbed the edge of Grell's undone shirt and pulled him closer for a drugging kiss. He could still taste his own essence on the other's tongue.

Grell moaned against his lips as William's hand slid down his body, pressing against his arousal. He pushed closer, wanting more of that delicious friction.

"Only a whore would enjoy doing something like that," William murmured.

"I don't remember asking you to pay."

At that, William pushed him back. "You don't have to."

Grell stumbled slightly back towards the center of the room. He watched in confusion as William began to fasten his trousers. "William, what are you doing?"

"Getting dressed."

"You're just going to leave me like this?!" Grell shouted, breathless.

"Yes," William replied. Turning, he looked at the redhead. "Whether or not you will do something about it remains to be seen."

**End.**

_Author's Note_

The best place to start would probably be by saying that I hate this fic. It was written for the Summer of Shinigami fic swap. Originally, there was a 12,500 word one-shot that had plot and depth and good porn (as opposed to whatever this is). Then my computer decided to relieve me of my writing folder, and I had to write something quickly. I find that embarrassing, but this is the end result. I hope I'll be able to write the other story again sometime, especially since I did a crapload of research on the Thames torso murders, which were a string of serial killings that took place in the same general time frame as Jack the Ripper (though they may have started much earlier.)

Oh well. Perhaps you enjoyed it, in which case all is not lost. Sorry for marring the internet with this trash!


End file.
